Dear Families,
The Power of Waiting
“I will wait,” is one of the phrases I say to children the most often as a teacher and as a parent. It’s one of those tricky lines that can be said with genuine patience or with an undercurrent of exasperation. And it carries a completely different power depending on our tone and our level of sincerity.
I actually remember with great clarity the first time I said this to a child. Very early in my years as a classroom teacher, we were coming to the end of our outdoor time, and the other two teachers were lining the children up, preparing to go inside. I was crouched next to the climbing structure, peering underneath at a little boy in our class, who had hidden in a moment of anger and frustration and was now refusing to come out. I watched the rest of the children start to head indoors and weighed my options. I could try the magical authority of counting to three. But the truth was that there was nothing I could do to follow through on any possible consequence after I said, “three,” because he was too far back for me to safely take him out. Somehow I had to convince him to come out on his own without rewarding his impulse to hide.
So, primarily out of a loss for any other immediate solution, I slowly sat down next to the climber. I looked underneath again and said, in my calmest voice, “I see that you’re still feeling very upset, so I’ll just wait here until you’re ready to come out.” I leaned against the side of the climber. After about five minutes, I peeked back underneath and said, “I’m still here. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to come out.” He looked at me and didn’t move. I smiled just a little bit and then returned to leaning against the climber, waiting. About a minute later, he slowly crawled out, cheeks still wet with tears, but otherwise calm and quiet. I smiled again as he emerged. We both stood up. I offered him my hand and we walked inside together without either of us saying another word.
It’s not always possible to just wait. Sometimes we need to get to school or to work or to any of the many other places that make us feel understandably and unavoidably harried. I have certainly had many of these moments as well, particularly as a parent! But when we are able to take a breath, find our own calm in the storm, and let children know, with sincerity, that we will wait, it is often surprising how quickly they are able to follow suit.
Image from The Chocolate Covered Cookie Tantrum by Deborah Blumenthal
It is, of course, always powerful to remain calm when children’s tempers heat up. There is truth to the old parenting adage that warns us not to “feed” a tantrum. Research has also shown that when we are able to literally slow our own breathing and pulse rates, there is an emotional contagion that has the power to transfer our feeling of calm to others. The child’s system mirrors ours, slows down, and we come into equilibrium together. (This research holds for adult relationships as well.)
There is another dimension though to saying the words, “I will wait,” to children when they are spoken with a tone of sincere patience and love. Children are often overwhelmed by the magnitude and loss of control that their own big feelings create. When we let them know that we will wait, we convey our knowledge and confidence as adults that feelings are temporary, and that we know their own storm will pass. By waiting calmly while they rage, we also let them know that their feelings, no matter how big, will never be powerful enough to break our bond. Children need to push against their relationship with us from time to time to reassure themselves that it is still strong and unconditional. By reminding them that we will wait, we let them know, simultaneously, that we have confidence in their own resiliency and that we will always be there for them—two of the most powerful lessons in strength and security we can transmit.
Shabbat shalom,
Alicia